


A Hundred Days

by Unforth



Series: Writing Prompt Wednesday [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accountant Castiel, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Mechanic Dean, Pining, Roommates, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Voyeurism, Writing Prompt Wednesday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4953952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's moved out and Dean's new roommate, Castiel, would be perfect except for a small problem: the gorgeous son of a bitch insists on wearing nothing but a towel when he goes to take a shower. And no, Dean <i>definitely does not</i> plan his entire morning around making sure he gets a glimpse of firm chest and toned legs every day. Who does that? Creepy jerks, that's who.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hundred Days

**Author's Note:**

> Today, I inaugurated a new feature on my Tumblr, "Writing Prompt Wednesday." Every Wednesday, I'll take a general idea suggested by...anyone, really...and create a list of prompts inspired by that general concept. For example, the general theme might be "suburban AUs" and I'll spend half an hour or so scrawling down every one sentence story idea I can come up with on that theme.
> 
> Week One's theme was suggested by [profoundfall](http://archiveofourown.org/users/profoundfall/pseuds/profoundfall), and was:  
> "I’ve been hearing all about the fall equinox and “leaf peepers” this morning, so I’d go for “peeping” AUs"
> 
> [Here is the list of prompts I concocted](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/post/130675985933/writing-prompt-wednesday-inaugural-edition).
> 
> Okay, y'all are (probably not) saying, that's great, Unforth, but what is it to do with us?
> 
>  
> 
> _But wait, there's more!_
> 
>  
> 
> So, I work early mornings on the east coast of the US, and I'll be writing these prompt lists at like 5 AM EST. Me and a few other writers thought it might be fun to write ficlets using some of the prompts, have them come out over Wednesday as we write them.
> 
> For example, [here's ellieelephant's contribution](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4952563). 
> 
> Anyway...this is all pretty new, but I'm hoping people will find it fun and get on board, and maybe we'll get some fun stories out of it. So, feel free to spread the prompts around, and please try to ping me on here or on Tumblr if you write to one of the prompts, so I can link it in to everything.
> 
> But, right. This story. So, this is my attempt at a ficlet. Yes, I know it's 7000 words. Yes, I know that's about as far from a ficlet as it's possible to be. Yes, I know, I'm utterly incapable of writing short things. On the other hand, I DID write and edit it all today, and it made a welcome reprieve from WDISF for the day, so that's something right? At some point I got so used to dumping in plot that now I can't NOT and for me doing WPW will be a way to remember that skill, or maybe learn it for the first time, and figure out how to tell a good story in a couple thousand words. I'm not there yet - but this is the shortest story I've written since, like, May, so hey, I'll take it.
> 
> I hope you like it. Here's the prompt I chose to write to:
> 
>  
> 
> _ever since you moved in as my roommate I’ve been sneaking peeks of you wearing your towel to and from the bathroom, and recently it seems like your towel has been riding lower and lower on your hips and OMG are those pubes AU_

**A Hundred Days**

_Day 1_

Looking for a roommate had been a wrench, had forced Dean to acknowledge that Sam was gone and wouldn’t be coming back. At least, not unless his relationship with Madison fell apart completely, and as much as it had hurt to move Sam’s things out, as much as he missed having his brother around, Dean couldn’t bring himself to wish for the relationship to crash and burn. Madison made Sam happy, and Sam’s happiness was what mattered.

Dean had left the room open for two months, “just in case.”

That was over now. Dean had run an ad in the paper. It took a half-dozen interviews to find someone tolerable who was also interested in living with him. The reasons Dean would like Castiel Novak as a roommate were obvious – he was well put together, had a good job that should ensure he’d pay his half of the rent on time, and described himself as “quiet, boring and unobstrusive.” If Dean had to share his living space with a stranger, that sounded ideal. What aspect of Dean and his apartment appealed to Novak was less obvious; even with the place at its best it was obvious that Dean was a bit of a slob, a bit lazy about picking up after himself, and accustomed to thinking about the space as entirely his own. Whatever his reasons, though, Novak was there now. It had only taken Dean, Sam, Novak, and Novak’s brother Gabriel two hours to carry everything Novak owned into the second bedroom. It wouldn’t even have been labor intensive if not for the sweltering heat of an unseasonable October. As it was, it had proved sweaty and tiring, especially after a morning spent working in Bobby’s stuffy garage. Dean hadn’t felt the least compunction grabbing the first shower. Cleaned and clothed, he knocked on Novak’s door.

“Hey, Novak, shower’s all yours.”

The door opened and Novak stood inches away from him. A wide white towel was wrapped around his waist, covering him from belly button to knee, and otherwise it was toned, lightly tanned muscles as far as the eye could see – punctuated by delicately protruding shoulder bones, a faint trail of near-black strands in a presumably manicured line down the center of his chest, and two perfect pink rosebuds of nipples, taut with the cold of the A/C running overtime in the room. Drying traces of sweat made visible trails along the perfect, toned pecs and down the concave curve of his belly. Dean licked his lips and stared, glad he had taken the time to don thick jeans instead of knocking while he was still in his bathrobe. Denim hid erections. Terry cloth did not. Speaking of which, Novak was flaccid but there was a definite bulge and _damn_ did Dean need to not think of his brand new, almost certainly straight roommate as someone fuckable.

“Please call me Castiel,” rumbled the other man in a voice low as sin. Had he _always_ sounded like that? How had Dean not noticed, during their interview, on the phone when Novak called to say he’d like to move in, over the past few hours as they’d moved his belongings in? That voice was pure sex. Dean’s cock pressed more insistently against the fly zipper of his pants, only his boxers protecting him from harsh metal teeth.

“Dude!” spluttered Dean. “Clothes! Get a fricken bathrobe!”

“Why?” was the puzzled reply.

“Because…because…” _Because I’m seriously popping a boner, what the fuck, dude?_

“If you’ll excuse me?” Novak said when Dean could produce no reply more coherent.

“Sure, hey, I’m not stopping you, go take your damn shower!”

“You’re blocking the doorway, Dean.”

Stepping aside, face crimson, pants uncomfortably tight, Dean resolved that when he’d had a chance to calm down – and deal with a certain problem in the privacy of his own room – he and _Castiel_ would have to talk about the propriety of not walking the halls of the apartment practically naked.

* * *

_Day 2_

“Novak—”

“Castiel.”

“Cas, the towel thing…” Dean trailed off. It had happened against that morning. Dean had run into Cas in the hall as Dean was rushing out for work: literally ran into him and knocked Cas to his ass in the middle of the hall. The towel had ended up hitched to Cas’ thighs, revealing far too much pale, powerful thigh and showing a distinctive contour of _long_ and _thick_ and _cylindrical_. Dean swallowed to force the thoughts away and tried not to remember how appealing Cas had looked, tried not to surrender to his obviously lust-driven crush, tried not to ponder why he had a nickname for the guy already.

Dean looked up, praying fricken God almighty that his cheeks weren’t pink – _I am_ not _blushing, the room is just too damn hot_ – to see Cas looking at him with puzzlement clear in the quirk of his head and the wide-eyed stare that showed his too-blue eyes.

“…never mind,” Dean concluded weakly. “Just forget about it.”

The hint of a smile turned up Cas’ pink lips at one corner. “Alright, Dean.”

“Sorry I ran you over this morning.”

“You’ve lived alone for a while. It was understandable that you’d forget someone else might be in the hall,” Cas said forgivingly. “I’m sure we’ll grow used to this new arrangement soon enough.”

“Yeah…yeah.”

* * *

_Day 16_

Dean was _very_ used to their new arrangement.

Every morning, he woke up at 6, made coffee, threw together some breakfast, took a shower, shaved, dressed, and headed out to get to Bobby’s by 7. Every morning, Cas’ appearance in the hall was heralded by the loud beeping of his alarm at 6:45, easily audible through the door, followed moments later by a bleary-eyed, muss-haired angel toddling unsteadily into the hallway wearing nothing but that damn towel.

 _He must sleep naked, to come out so quickly wearing so little_.

Every morning, Dean definitely did _not_ hear the alarm and immediately start to get hard, and he absolutely, indisputably, without a doubt _did not_ find excuses to go to the hallway and catch a glimpse of the barely-clad man. He _did not_ stare at Cas’ toned calves and admire his slim arms and imagine how the gravelly, sleep-roughened voice that said “Good morning, Dean” would sound moaning “harder, Dean, harder.”

That _did not happen_.

That morning, Dean took a box of tissues out to Baby and adjusted his alarm for the following day. If he was going to need five minutes to jerk off in the car, he was going to need to wake up five minutes earlier.

That evening, he knocked on Cas’ door. A moment later, Cas answered, an adorably disheveled version of his usual put-together self, his tie loosened and askew, his jacket hanging open, his trench coat over it as though he’d forgotten to pull it off when he came inside.

“Yes?” Cas asked breathlessly.

“Oh, uh, this a bad time?”

“No,” Cas said nearly inaudibly. “No,” he repeated, sounding more like himself. “Everything is fine.”

“I just wanted to mention – I cook breakfast every morning anyway, if you wanted to join me – making eggs and sausage for two isn’t any harder or time consuming than making it for one.”

Cas smiled, the first time Dean had truly seen him do so, and it lit up his every feature.

 _Danger, danger, worst idea ever, you do NOT need to spend more time with him than you already do_.

“Thanks, Dean. That’d be great.”

* * *

_Day 25_

“Hey, Cas, you got any plans for Thanksgiving?”

“Hmm?” Cas looked up from his eggs. Apparently, he didn’t sleep naked, because now, every morning at 6:15, Cas’ alarm went off (and Dean’s disturbingly well trained libido instantly responded with his Pavlovian erection) and Cas emerged in loose flannel pajama bottoms and nothing else, joined Dean in the kitchen to squeeze them fresh orange juice and make toast while Dean scrambled eggs and fried bacon or sausage. While Dean took his shower, Cas washed the dishes and was inevitably standing outside the bathroom door in his towel patiently waiting when Dean finished. It might have been Dean’s imagination, but he thought that towel sat lower on Cas’ hips than it used to. Surely, Dean hadn’t _always_ been able to see the firm, mirrored lines of Cas’ hips jutting out, and he was absolutely _positive_ that the first week or two, Cas’ belly button had been appropriately covered, whereas now there was easily a four inch gap of smooth skin visible between Cas’ navel and the top of the towel.

Not that Dean paid close attention or anything.

“Thanksgiving. You going anywhere?”

Cas shrugged noncommittally. “Not really. Gabe’s out of town this year; he’s who I usually spend the day with.”

“Um, well, if you wanted, Sam and I host an ‘Orphan’s Thanksgiving’ every year,” Dean offered. “I mean, not sayin’ you’re an orphan or anything, I’ve got no idea, but he and I are. We’ve got no other family, and a bunch of our friends don’t have much family either, so since ‘09 we’ve held a shindig – just like a dozen folks – and this year it’ll be at Sam and Madison’s place.”

“I’m not,” said Cas, impassive facial expression indecipherable.

“ ‘K, no worries,” Dean said as brightly as he could to mask his disappointment.

Cas looked up, met Dean’s eyes piercingly. “I’m not an orphan,” he clarified. “My parents just refuse to talk with me since I informed them of my preferences.”

“Preferences?” Dean asked, heart pounding. There were plenty of things that Cas might have confessed to that could lead to his being summarily disowned.

_Hey, mom and dad, I hate to tell you this but I’m going to be an accountant; I just love math okay?_

_Hey, mom and dad, don’t get mad but I hated the purple tie you got me for Christmas._

_Hey, mom and dad, terrible news—_

“My homosexuality,” Cas said as casually as if he were describing the weather. “I’m sorry, I assumed you knew. Gabe spent enough time talking about my ex while we were moving in.”

Frantic, Dean combed his memory for what Gabe had said that day.

“Micky?” he managed at length. “Micky is a dude? I just assumed…”

“Michael,” Cas nodded. “Gabe has this weird habit of giving men feminine nicknames.”

“That’s why he calls you Cassie?” Cas nodded in reply, taking another forkful of egg. “Hey, sorry your family isn’t talking to you, that’s really ass of them. My dad was pretty upset at first, but he got over it before the end, and that was actually pretty awesome. I never thought he’d accept me like that.”

“Are you gay, Dean?” asked Cas, choking on some sausage. Leaping to his feet, Dean rounded the table and gave Cas a firm pat on the back, grabbing the cup of OJ for him to clear his throat with. “I’m okay,” Cas croaked, “I’m okay…”

“Shit, dude, don’t scare me like that,” Dean rubbed a hand over the top of Cas’ back. Strictly speaking, the caress had zero chance of helping Cas swallow and catch his breath, nor would it have helped at all were Cas actually choking, but Dean couldn’t help himself. Finally, a totally legitimate excuse to touch the guy. “Eat or talk, don’t try to do both at once.”

“Are you?” Cas wheezed insistently.

“I’m bi,” Dean answered. Cas glanced over his shoulder to give Dean a smile despite his continued breathing trouble and watering eyes, and Dean’s heart fricken _melted_.

“I’d love to join your ‘family’ for Thanksgiving, Dean.”

* * *

_Day 26_

The towel was different. For starters, it was blue instead of white, but more than that, it was smaller. Much smaller. Like, barely clung to Cas’ hips yet ended only inches lower. Like, several inches of those awesome thighs revealed to the light of the world. Like, it didn’t even wrap all the way around his body, and a gap up one side showed uninterrupted pale flesh from waist to hip, hip to knee. Like, there was no _way_ that the shadow below Cas’ navel was a downy spread of pubic hair. Absolutely not. Impossible.

“Have a good day, Dean,” Cas said, brushing by him as if somehow utterly unaware that Dean was staring at him agog.

“Got enough towel to dry with there, Cas?” asked Dean in strangled tones.

“I felt like I wasted too much water washing bigger ones all the time,” Cas said as he stepped into the bathroom. “I’m sure it will be fine.” The words were muffled as Cas closed the door behind him, and seconds later the sound of the water started.

Dean didn’t make it out to the Impala. At the risk of running late, he bolted to his room, nearly busted the zipper on his jeans in his haste to free himself, and was coming in his hand in about a minute flat moaning, “ _Cas, Cas, Cas…_ ” to the disinterested room while the real thing stood blissfully unaware and presumably buck naked under the steaming spray mere feet away.

Maybe getting a roommate hadn’t been the best idea after all.

* * *

_Day 45_

“So, Castiel,” said Sam around a forkful of pie. Dean scowled. Seriously? Sam had pulled them away from the football game, dragged him out to the porch in the freezing fucking cold, to ask Dean about _Cas_?

“Yeah?” Dean said in guarded tones, as warningly as he could.

“What’s going on there?” Sam continued casually.

Dean speared a chunk of apple on his fork and stuffed the whole slice in his mouth, scowling despite the sweet cinnamon gooeyness of it. “He’s my roommate.”

“Hey, okay, just, he seems pretty into you.”

“Drop it, Sam, I…” Dean trailed off as his brain caught up to what Sam had said. “Wait, what?”

“I thought there might be more going on, that’s all.”

“Whaddaya mean ‘into me?’ ” asked Dean suspiciously, unable to keep a hopeful flicker from burning in his chest.

“Sticks pretty close to you as you move around the room, listens attentively to what you say, compliments your cooking, heck, did he really spend his day off sitting through the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy with you?” Sam asked, a knowing glint in his eye. Dean hadn’t the least fucking clue what Sam thought he knew that might cause that glint. “Even Charlie looked impressed by that one. That’s like 12 hours straight...or not so straight...”

“What, it was fucking snowing out, in November, what the hell else were we supposed to do?” grumbled Dean.

“I don’t know, sit in your own rooms and ignore each other like normal roommates do?”

“Forget it, Sam.”

“But—”

“Eat your damn pie.”

Sam rolled his eyes and assumed his most petulant, bitchy expression. “I just thought—”

“ _Shut up and eat it, Sammy_.”

* * *

_Day 61_

Cas worked an 8:30 to 6 weekday schedule. Dean worked Tuesday to Saturday, 7 until whenever the hell they were done for the day – usually 7 or 8. Sundays were lazy days that, increasingly, they spent together. Dean tried not to think about that – _he’s my friend_ – and _definitely_ did not dwell on what his brother had said two weeks before.

Monday was the only day Dean didn’t get his morning dose of towel-clad Castiel. Those glimpses were like a drug to him, and though he tried not to make it seem like he contrived to be in the hallway every day…he saw Castiel in nothing but that tiny fucking towel every damn day. Of late, it had been riding even lower. Dean could swear that on Friday the only thing that had been holding it up was an extremely suspicious bulge, and a thickening swath of dark hair had been unmistakable.

Each Sunday night, Dean told himself that setting an alarm for Monday morning would be ridiculous. It was the only damn day he got to sleep in. Sundays his old habit of attending church roused him, a weekly tradition that had little to do with religion and everything to do with paying tribute to his dead mother and offering him an outlet for a dose of volunteerism and community spirit. It wasn’t even _really_ church, he was a fucking Unitarian. If he woke up early enough to see Cas on Monday, he could kiss long comfy mornings in bed goodbye. On the other hand, Monday was also the only day when he had any privacy, the only day when he could indulge every fantasy he stocked up throughout the week, stroke himself and fill himself and come crying Cas’ name as loudly as he wanted without a care for the other man hearing him. A glimpse of nearly-naked blue-eyed angel would be _very_ nice before such activities. Not essential, but a small additional dose of gratification.

Dean was starting to feel like a fucking stalker.

So, each Sunday, Dean considered setting an alarm, and each Sunday, he didn’t.

Until the Sunday he did.

And discovered to his chagrin that Cas’ mornings were timed differently when he wasn’t forced to take Dean’s schedule into account. Poking his head out of the room at 6:35, Dean was horrified and disappointed to discover that Cas was already in the shower.

_How fucking weird would it be for me to wait around until he comes out? Fuck, Dean, how can we make this look casual? Get up, make some coffee, no, scratch that, the coffee machine makes too much noise, if this is gonna work I need to be able to hear the second the bathroom door opens. Okay, so, go to the kitchen, start to get stuff ready, maybe I can make him breakfast, and—_

“Oh, _yeah_ …” An impossibly low, impossibly satisfied groan interrupted Dean’s thoughts and nearly fucking incinerated him on the spot.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…_

Dean’s cock went from zero to fucking _hard enough to drive fucking nails_ in about 10 seconds flat, and before a rational thought could process, he had a hand on himself through his pajama bottoms, palm pressed hard against urgent need. Tantalizing silence followed, but Dean was already too gone for that to stop him. As long as the water was running he was safe. Desperate, he rubbed up and down his length, trapping it between his thigh and his palm, using the worn, soft fabric of his pajamas to augment the blissful sensations shivering through his body.

“Just like…just like that, yeah, just like that…” Cas groaned loudly.

“Yeah,” whispered Dean, “just like that, Cas, _fuck_ , just like that…”

Cas’ words trailed off, replaced by audible breaths, desperate moans, setting a frantic pace that Dean matched instantly, so aroused so quickly he didn’t need any more build up – _I’ve already had two fucking months of build up_ – to bring him to the edge. A deep groan heralded Cas’ climax, and it was all Dean could do to keep himself silent as he fucking creamed his pants a moment later, collapsing to his knees in the hallway, stroking himself as aftershock after aftershock ripped through him and reduced him to a gasping pleasure and semen-soaked mess.

The shower water turned off.

Panic blanked everything – _he cannot find me like this, cannot, cannot,_ cannot _–_ and he fumblingly fell backwards into his own room, slamming the door behind him. He collapsed against the door, still breathing heavily, and closed his eyes as another wash of dimming rapture cascading throughout his body. His cock twitched, threatened to harden again.

“Dean?” Cas’ raspy voice was barely muffled by the door, a second stark reminder in as many minutes of how thin their walls actually were. With difficulty, Dean quieted his breathing, tried not to move, choked back the whine of desire struggling to win free of his chest. Through the crappy pseudo-wood of his door, he could hear a brush of touch, feel the way the material at his back shifted slightly as Cas lay a hand on it. “Dean, are you up?”

 _Why don’t I just tell him, why don’t I say something? Sam thinks he likes me, he_ must _have realized by now that I always fucking creep on him in the hall on his way to the shower. If he wanted me to stop all he had to do was tell me so. What if he wants me, too?_

_No. I can’t assume that. Just because he’s gay and I’m a dude doesn’t mean jack squat. If he was interested, he’d have said something ages ago._

There was a faint clatter as the hand moved from the door, an audible sigh, and the sound of carpet-dulled footsteps moving away. Dean crawled back into bed and wished his brain would do anything other than infinitely replay the sounds Cas had made. By the time Dean heard the front door close, the overloud click of the key in the lock, he was achingly hard again. He’d never thought the sound of Cas leaving would be such a fucking relief.

As soon as he was alone, he sighed into the mattress, a hand on his cock, the other fumbling for the lube he kept in his nightstand. He was in for one hell of a morning.

* * *

_Day 75_

“You didn’t have to get me something, Cas,” Dean frowned as Cas returned from his room holding a small, sloppily wrapped package. It should have been impossible to do such a bad job getting paper wrapped around a cube, and was incongruous considering how meticulous Cas usually was.

“You got me something,” countered Cas. “I saw it under the tree.”

“Yeah, but...” Dean trailed off. He had no good answer for that, all he knew was that he hadn’t expected anything in return. He didn’t deserve it. Cas was fucking awesome: smart, funny, gorgeous. Dean was the loser who skulked around the apartment and tried to make up for being a disgusting creep by cooking Cas breakfast and dinner and sharing movie night every Sunday. He muttered, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

It was Dean’ first Christmas alone.

 _Not alone. Cas is here_.

Mom and dad were dead. Sam was with Madison’s family. He’d invited Dean along, but that it was just too fucking weird to show up at his brother’s girlfriend’s family’s house to be the uninvited stranger hanging around and drinking too much spiked eggnog.

He’d tried to get in the spirit. He’d put a tree, hung a mess of lights and dug through the boxes of Christmas trimming he’d not had the nerve to open since dad died. As Cas sat on the couch and watched, Dean had bedecked the tree with ornaments that were less decorations and more physical embodiments of the most cherished memories of his life, laid bare one by one as they dangled from the sappy branches.

 _Sappy is right_.

Every attempt to make the day better had only made it worse. If Cas hadn’t been there, Dean would be drunk already.

It was 9 AM.

Silence stretched out and Cas stared at him with a look that Dean decided arbitrarily was unreadable because he couldn’t bear to think it was sympathetic.

“Isn’t Gabe coming to get you?”

“We’re going to dinner, Dean,” Cas said. Dean stared blankly. “A meal typically held in the evening. We’re going to Lucky Strawberry. It’s an annual tradition.”

“I thought only Jewish people got Chinese food on Christmas,” grunted Dean.

“Gabriel and I were raised Baptist,” Cas frowned, not understanding the reference. “You’d be welcome to come.”

“Naw, brothers need time alone...together. I’ll be fine.”

Another awkward silence fell. There were so many things Dean wanted to say and couldn’t. It was fucking killing him. Maybe he could convince Cas to spend the day with Gabe and leave Dean the fuck alone.

 _This day cannot be over soon enough_. _He cannot leave soon enough_

“Get your gift, if we’re gonna do this, let’s do it. I’m gonna grab some nog. Want any?” Dean rose and headed to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder. He needed alcohol, like, ten minutes ago.

“No thanks.”

Rustling partially obscured the words. Dean returned to the living room quickly, clutching a large glass of eggnog topped off with rum. Castiel was returning to the table, holding the large, lumpy, malleable gift, glancing between the shiny wrapping paper and Dean in puzzlement. Dean took a large sip of eggnog to remind himself that this was for the best. There were some things he simply could _not_ handle like an adult, and Cas in that fucking towel was one of them.

“What is it?” asked Cas, sitting at the table and setting the gift down.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Open it and find out.”

“You first.”

“Wha...why? No!” Dean snapped. He’d waited two fucking weeks to give his present to Cas, he couldn’t wait any fucking longer.

“Why not?” Cas gave him that horrifically endearing quirked head look, as if Dean was some strange creature beyond Cas’ comprehension.

“Look, let’s open them at the same time, okay?” said Dean desperately.

“But then I can’t see how you react,” protested Cas.

“Just open the fucking present, Cas.”

Sighing, Cas pushed Dean’s small gift towards him and poked at the oddly fluffy paper-wrapped object before him. His finger went through the paper. “It’s...soft?”

“Open. It.”

“Fine, Dean,” grumbled Cas. He ripped open the paper to reveal the contents, layer upon layer of plush folded terry cloth in a rich shade of blue. Frowning uncertainly, Cas lifted it and shook it out. A belt fell free and sleeves dangled at strange angles, as Cas lifted the fabric from a point somewhere along the back. “What is it?”

“It’s a bathrobe, Cas.”

“But Dean, I _like_ my towels,” objected Cas. “I thought this wasn’t a problem any longer.”

“Please, Cas?” Dean pled. It was the most fucking selfish gift he’d ever given anyone, the sloppily wrapped reason he couldn’t bear that Cas had bought him anything or that Cas might invite him to dinner or that Cas might spend any of the day with him. He knew damn well that Cas didn’t want a bathrobe. It didn’t matter. Dean _needed_ him to wear the fucking thing or he was going to lose his mind.

“It’s a nice color,” Cas said in that tone of voice that screamed that he’d gotten a gift he didn’t like and had to think of _something_ nice to say about it. “I’ll...I’ll wear it.” Something in Cas’ look closed off and Dean thought his heart would break.

_Yep, fucked that up to._

“Open yours now?” suggested Cas sadly.

_Can’t put it off any longer. God, I hope whatever he got me fucking sucks._

With trembling, hesitant fingers, Dean tore at the festive paper only to reveal a plain brown cardboard box beneath. Heart pounding, anxiety spiking so strongly Dean felt sick, he tugged uselessly at the seams of the box before he realized the fucking thing had a lid. Blushing, he glanced up to see if Cas had noticed, but Cas was watching him with that God-please-don’t-let-it-be-sympathy look again. Tearing his gaze away, Dean opened the box and looked within. All there was to see was a mass of tissue paper.

“God, wrap this fucking thing well enough, Cas?” Dean’s tone was harsher than he meant it to be and he could fucking _feel_ Cas flinch. He couldn’t look.

Reaching within, Dean’s fingers closed on something hard that felt cool even through the thin paper. He took it out, ripped off the paper...

...and blinked, unsure what exactly he was looking at. Sure, literally it was obvious. Made entirely of glass, it was an angel, transparent, with a green ribbon attached to the back so it could be hung from the Christmas tree. Instead of the stereotypical long flowing robes and featureless face, it was in the form of a beatific person to whom Dean couldn’t assign a gender. The face and body seemed almost undefined, though they were in fact incredibly detailed, every feature articulated, every finger distinct, but it was overshadowed by the beauty of the wings, molded down to the last feather. Dean held it up and admired how the fine details caught and refracted the Christmas lights into a rainbow.

“It’s beautiful, Cas,” he breathed. “But...why?”

“When you were decorating the tree, you told me about some of your memories,” Cas said awkwardly, looking away. “You seemed so sad. I thought, maybe, you might like a new ornament, and a chance to make some new memories. When I saw that one, I thought it suited you.”

 _Angels are watching over you_ , Dean’s mother’s voice whispered from twenty fucking years ago.

Dean’s eyes swam with tears.

_No, no, not going to do this, not going to do this._

“Um, it’s great,” he muttered. “Why don’t you hang it on the tree? I kinda made you sit on the couch while I hung the ornaments before...it’s your apartment, too.”

 _I can’t believe he got me this and I got him a fucking bathrobe_.

“Okay, Dean,” murmured Cas. Their eyes met, Cas’ flashed and went wide as he saw how upset Dean was. Looking away, Cas reached out to take the angel from Dean, brushing Dean’s hand tenderly as he did – no, not tenderly, it was inadvertent, Cas wasn’t even looking at him. As Cas crossed the room, Dean took a fortifying chug of eggnog. Cas took his time, examining the tree from several angles before he finally settled on a clear space where a branch must have broken away. He hung the angel securely on a thick bough and then stepped back. Untouched, it twisted on its cord and shone, haloed by the lights nestled deep around the tree trunk. It was beautiful but had nothing on Cas’ slightly disheveled brown hair, his morning stubble, his gleaming blue eyes as he turned to face Dean once more.

“Want to come to church with me?” Dean blurted out.

Cas’ face hardened, his expression closed. “I don’t do that anymore, Dean. They don’t exactly welcome people like me.”

“Please?” Dean implored. “I promise, it’s not like what you’re used to. You could tell the people at my church you were a Buddhist alien atheist pansexual polyamorist and they’d grin and offer you a pin with a rainbow on it that says ‘celebrate diversity.’ ”

“I’m impressed by your ability to be rude to that many groups at a time, that took effort.”

“Come with me, Castiel.” There was a long pause. “Please. I don’t want to go alone, not today.”

“Okay, Dean. I’ll go with you.”

“Tha—”

“ _If_ you’ll go to dinner with Gabriel and I.”

The hard look in Cas’ eyes was compelling, undeniable. Dean looked away, tried to think of any way to negotiate with Cas’ unequivocal tone. The flare of happy hope that had blossomed in his breast when Cas said he’d go to church with him was undeniable, and the prospect of having Cas withdraw and leave Dean to go alone was agonizing. Cas’ lips stretched into a thin, frustrated line as he stared Dean down, and Dean felt increasingly like a petulant child. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He had no idea what _it_ was, but _it_ was more than he could handle. Shoulders slumping, Dean conceded defeat.

“Thanks, Cas,” he whispered.

A hand reached out, enclosed Dean’s where it clutched his empty eggnog glass, and Dean reluctantly looked up to see Cas giving him a gentle smile.

 _Touch me, kiss me, hold me; please, Cas, I need you_.

 _There is absolutely no way in which I deserve you_.

* * *

_Day 80_

Cas wore the bathrobe.

He looked fucking spectacular in it, of course. Like fucking Hugh Heffner or some shit, with the flaps open just enough to show an enticing triangle of Cas’ chest. The shade of the terry cloth made Cas’ eyes seem like they were glowing, the blue was brought out so powerfully. The ends of the tied belt hung down and flapped suggestively directly over Cas’ crotch.

Cas wore the bathrobe, and he walked directly to the bathroom, and he didn’t so much as glance at Dean, and it didn’t make any fucking difference. Dean’s cock was _still_ standing at full attention, and he _still_ had to masturbate in the Impala, and he _still_ came moaning Cas’ name.

He was so thoroughly fucked.

* * *

_Day 91_

“Dean, did they change your hours at the garage?” Cas asked over their usual breakfast.

“Wha?” Dean asked around a mouthful of jam-covered toast, glad that terrible table manners hid his poor attempt at nonchalance. “Oh, yeah, did I forget to tell you? I’m going in at 6:30 now. Winter’s always like that – people forget that the roads get icy overnight, drive like fucking morons, get into accidents, it’s always a cluster fuck. Bobby needs all hands on deck, early. I’ll be working Sundays, too, and maybe a few hours on Monday – on call overnight, as well.”

It wasn’t _exactly_ a lie. Heck, _technically_ every single word was absolutely true. It just omitted the part where Bobby hadn’t actually _asked_ Dean to make those changes to his schedule. Rather, Dean had begged Bobby to allow him to take the extra hours. He couldn’t stand the tension in the house any longer. Fuck going crazy, being around Cas was going to fucking kill him.

_He’s my roommate. Nothing else._

“Oh.”

That was all Cas said. Dean refused to look up to see the facial expression that went with that word. He knew it would be disinterested, maybe slightly concerned that Dean would be working so many hours, but otherwise unaffected.

Maybe he should ask Cas to move out.

* * *

_Day 100_

Dean took his showers scaldingly hot in the winter. The water heater in the building could handle it, and the way the heat suffused his entire body, left him aching with it, helped to fend off the winter chill during long hours in a tow truck. Bobby’s punishment for granting Dean’s wish for more work was endless fucking days of tow truck duty as winter storm after winter storm pummeled the area. It had been a rare night the past week when he hadn’t returned home after a thirteen hour shift, wet through, exhausted from driving in the shitty conditions and exasperated from dealing with people acting as if _their_ stupid ass driving was somehow _his_ fault. And _those_ were the good cases. The bad cases involved casualties and trying to shift mangled vehicles into neutral while ignoring the blood splattering the steering wheel and dashboard. The shower was his last sanctuary, the one place other than his bedroom where he’d _never_ see Cas, his last bastion before he had to face his day.

The plan was working perfectly. Aside from breakfast, Dean had hardly seen Cas in a week. Today, he hadn’t even needed to worry about breakfast. It was Saturday. Cas always slept in on Saturday’s.

There was a knock on the bathroom door.

 _Or not_.

“Dean, are you done yet?” Cas’ voice was muffled by the door, softened by the steam suffusing the air of the room.

“Sorry, Cas, just a second,” Dean said. He was basically finished, and if Cas needed the bathroom, he could get out of the fucking way. He turned the water off, stepped out of the shower and wrapped his towel around himself. There wasn’t time to dry off and get his robe on. That felt like the very fucking definition of irony. There was another knock. “Yeah, almost done.” Dean put a hand on the knob and turned it, the lock clicking loudly in the thick air. “Everything okay, Cas? This is a little early...for...”

Cas was standing directly before the door, hair a rumpled mess, eyes wide, lips parted around breaths that set his chest – his very bare chest – rising and falling rapidly. Jaw dropping, Dean’s eyes continued down, followed the line of dark hair down Cas’ abs, past his belly button, down his soft belly, the thatch thickening closer to his crotch, dense and curly where it made a bush around Cas’ entirely fucking bare, impressively erect cock.

“What...the...”

There was no coherent thought left beyond _what the actual flying fuck_ and _want, want, want._  Staring, Dean stood paralyzed.

“Dean,” panted Cas urgently. “We need to talk.”

“C...Cas,” he stammered, cock making an obvious tent of his towel. “Uh, no, not a good time, I have to...have to...”

 _Have to kiss you, fuck, I have to get my hands on that gorgeous cock of yours, have_ got _to hear you moan my fucking name as you come_.

Dean’s brain fucking _shattered_.

His hands were on Cas’ shoulders. Their bodies crashed together and Cas’ back slammed against the far wall of the hallway. Dean smothered the slimmer man with his body, rubbed their skin together with all the wanton desire he’d held at bay for three fucking months, pressed his lips to Cas’ and kissed him frantically.

_No, no, no, this is wrong, this is..._

Cas’ arms wrapped around him and ripped the towel from his waist. His hands grabbed Dean’s ass, held him in place, and he rutted his hips against Dean’s body, their cocks brushing and rubbing.

 _...this is right, this is so unbelievably right, oh my God, Castiel_.

“Yes, Dean,” Cas gasped into his ear, “Yes, don’t you dare stop, not now.”

Wait, _he_ wasn’t supposed to stop? Right, his hips were rolling into Cas’, their bodies so close he could scarce draw breath, every bit of friction on his cock fucking _magic_ , and over the rushing of blood in his ears he could barely make out his own voice whispering fervently, “feels so good, Cas, fuck, I want you so much, want you, need you...”

“You’ve got me,” Cas moaned. The hands on Dean’s ass dug in, Cas’ lips sucked harshly at Dean’s neck, and they thrust together more urgently. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, _finally_.”

“Cas,” Dean groaned, heat surging through him. “ _Cas_!” It was all he could take, his body was so flushed from the shower, from months of denial, from the perfect feeling of Cas’ gorgeous body against his, and he came hard, spurting white that splattered both their bellies. Cas’ hands wrapped around Dean’s arms and back with crushing strength as Dean moaned through his climax, held Dean still as Cas thrust against him with desperate urgency. A moment later Cas went limp, sighing _Dean_ with a calm contentment that was a bizarre contrast to the harsh jerking of his hips as he blew his load.

 _Holy shit_.

Dean barely got his arms around Cas before he slumped to the floor.

“What the fuck, Cas?” he whispered, nearly sick on a combination of satisfaction and terror that he’d just crossed more lines than they’d ever be able to recover from.

“Finally,” breathed Cas, face slack with relief and desire and release. “God, I couldn’t figure out what I had to do to make you realize how much I wanted you.”

“Wha...I mean...what, were you trying to send me some kind of message with that fucking towel? How the fuck was I supposed to respond? I was tryin’ to be a gentleman!” Dean spluttered.  

“Dean, your idea of being a gentleman is standing in the hallway ogling my half-clad body every day for months?” Cas gave him a toothy grin and fucking _booped_ his nose.

“You could have _said_ something!” said Dean with every bit of effrontery he felt. This whole clusterfuck was supposed to be _his_ fault, but now apparently Cas had been completely aware of what was going on all the time! “What the _fuck_ , Cas?”

“At first, it was so much more fun to watch you stare,” Cas giggled. He stole another desperate kiss. “And then Christmas happened and it occurred to me that maybe you weren’t playing along – maybe you really didn’t understand, maybe you were actually uncomfortable. Seriously, that had never occurred to me. If that towel had been any smaller I would have been naked, and your jeans don’t hide an erection _that_ well. Do you know how difficult it was to walk down the hall without getting hard every day? I’ve come in that shower so many times I start to get an erection every time I step in the bathroom. I thought you _must_ know. But you were so obviously upset and you got me that damn bathrobe...I couldn’t make any sense of it, and then you changed your schedule, and I realized that somehow I’d made a mess of everything. What was I supposed to say?”

“It was more fun to watch me stare?” echoed Dean blankly.

“Much more fun,” admitted Cas sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Dean, communication has never been my strong point, and—”

Dean smashed their mouths together, fucking _ravished_ Cas’ mouth. Right then, he didn’t need apologies, he didn’t need explanations, he didn’t need to talk. They could say everything that needed to be said later. What he needed, more than anything, was Cas’ body on his, over his, around his. He needed all the things he’d been dreaming about since the very first fucking time he’d seen Cas in that fucking towel.

“Give me an hour, and I will prove to you _exactly_ how much more fun it would have been if you’d told me you wanted me in the first damn place,” Dean said with a smirk.

Slowly, tauntingly, Cas ran his hands down Dean’s spine, cradled his ass, traced the line where his hips met his thighs around to his front, kneaded his balls, gave his softening cock a stroke, smeared his fingers through the come clinging to Dean’s belly, settled a hand on each of Dean’s breasts, leaned forward, and whispered, “Oh, I expect _much_ longer than an hour.”

“Challenge _accepted_ ,” breathed Dean in his ear.

Sprinting for his cell phone, still on his bed stand, Dean scrambled over the screen keyboard as Cas came up behind him, running hands over every inch of his chest, playing with his nipples, rutting against Dean’s ass, pushing Dean against the bed.

_hey Bobby fam emerg gonna be late mabe not in today sry_

An hour later saw Dean lying on his back, Cas straddling him and riding his cock like a fucking porn star, moaning, “God, Dean, you were right, you were so right, I should have said something, so good, so good, you feel so _damn_ good...”

“Love you, Cas,” Dean breathed, grabbing Cas’ swaying hips and stilling them as he pressed up hard from the bed, thrusting into Cas’ amply lubed hole, pleasure like sparklers searing his eyes. “ _Fuck_ , I...I...so much, love you so much I can’t fucking stand it, Cas.”

“Me too, Dean, me too, love you, love you, I can’t believe I almost moved in somewhere else...harder, Dean, _harder_.”

Dean was happy, absolutely fucking _thrilled_ , to oblige.

“We’re burning the bathrobe, Cas.”

“Yes!” cried Cas. “Yes, yes, yes, _yes_!”

_Best roommate ever._

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr is [unforth-ninawaters](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/). If you want to get involved in Writing Prompt Wednesday, wander on over - I'm always looking for prompts, and would love to get some more writers involved, too! :)
> 
> 12/26/2015: Updated with some minor grammar fixes and word changes.


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